Zhang Yichen's gaze followed the director as her hand fell gently on an old, yellowing photograph.
It was taken when he was just a hundred days old.
Every child who came to the orphanage had their picture taken by her.
If their birth date and details were known, she would photograph them at one hundred days, and then again each year on their birthday.
If not, the photo would be taken on the day they arrived.
That arrival date would then become their official birthday—just in case their parents ever returned.
The purpose of these photos was simple: to let parents, should they come back, see how their children had grown.
The director always said: "Unless forced by desperation, what parent could truly abandon their child?"
She often added that she hoped every child would one day find their parents again—that every child could have a chance at happiness.
She was, without question, a remarkable woman.
Looking at the faded photograph, Zhang Yichen's heart stirred. His voice softened with rare tenderness.
"Mom…"
"Move aside."
Before he could get sentimental, the director frowned and pushed him gently away.
He had been blocking her view of the baby.
"This…" Zhang Yichen's throat tightened, his voice hoarse with mock hurt. "So… you don't love me anymore?"
Ignoring him, the director squinted at the photograph, then looked back at the infant. A gentle smile spread across her face.
"This child… looks so much like little Chen when he was a baby."
Her voice was calm and tender, as though stating an obvious fact.
"The more I look, the more alike they seem…" she murmured under her breath, barely audible.
The next moment, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of old flower-patterned glasses. The lenses were scratched, marked by years of use.
Her hands trembled faintly as she perched them on her nose, adjusting the frame with care. Her eyes, magnified behind the glass, locked firmly on the photo.
"This picture was taken when you were a hundred days old," she said softly, fingertips brushing the photo's worn edges as if touching a long-buried memory.
"You were such a tiny bundle, swaddled tight… and you wouldn't let anyone hold you except me. But every time you saw me, you'd laugh so happily."
Her gaze drifted toward the baby in Li Yue's arms, her eyes softening with nostalgia.
"This little one's eyes… they're exactly the same as yours back then. The nose, the mouth—so alike. Could it be…?"
Her words trailed off.
No. Impossible. A year ago, Chen was still just a boy.
She must be mistaken.
Yes, her aging eyes must be playing tricks on her.
Still, unwilling to let go of her suspicion, she held the old photo beside the baby's face, studying them closely.
"Mom," Zhang Yichen said quietly, standing beside her. "This child… she's my daughter."
Her hand froze mid-air, clutching the photo. Her gaze flickered between Yichen and the baby, brows knitting as though trying to process his words.
"Your… daughter?" Her voice trembled with disbelief. "Chen, you're still so young. How could you…?"
Zhang Yichen pressed his lips together, eyes resolute. "Mom, a year ago…"
Aside from the fact that he was a transmigrator, he told her everything that had happened—then, and recently.
"No wonder… so that's what it was!"
Her expression shifted as the pieces fell into place.
Back then, there had been a period when Zhang Yichen had changed completely.
He became withdrawn, hardly spoke, and stopped visiting the orphanage.
Even when he did come, he kept his distance from her.
She hadn't asked, thinking it was simply the growing pains of a boy becoming a man.
It had hurt her, yes, but what child didn't drift away as they grew?
At that time, Yichen had just turned twenty.
At twenty, children from the orphanage were expected to fend for themselves.
She had assumed the weight of survival had pressed down on him.
After all, wasn't that the fate of every child who walked out of this orphanage?
But to think—during that time, he had been carrying something like this.
A boy, barely twenty, in the prime of his youth… how much suffering must he have endured?
"Child… it's because I didn't take good enough care of you!"
The director's eyes brimmed, tears spilling down her lined cheeks.
"Mom, this isn't your fault. Back then, I was just being stubborn. But look at me now—I have a fiancée who loves me, and a beautiful daughter."
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the old photo—loosening, tightening, loosening again—as if trying to grasp something slipping through her hands.
"Chen…" Her voice rasped, heavy with sorrow. "You really… really have suffered so much, haven't you?"
He didn't reply. Instead, he smiled faintly, calm and resolute, a smile that carried release.
He reached out and clasped her frail, aged hand, the warmth in his palm grounding him.
"Mom… I'll be fine. The one who truly suffered is Xiaoxi."
His gaze shifted toward Chen Xiaoxi, soft and gentle.
She lowered her head, avoiding the director's eyes. Her ears burned red, shoulders stiff, her entire posture nervous.
"To give birth to our child, she had to hide, endure hardship after hardship…" His voice was quiet, almost reverent.
The director turned her attention to Xiaoxi, studying her carefully.
The young woman's frame was slender, her complexion pale but tinged with weariness. Her fingers twisted at the hem of her clothes, betraying her nerves.
"You're Xiaoxi, aren't you?" The director's tone softened, carrying the warmth of an elder. "Don't be afraid. As long as you two are well, I'll be at ease."
Xiaoxi lifted her head, eyes misted. Her voice trembled. "Thank you… Director. I'll take good care of Yichen and the baby. I won't let them suffer."
The director nodded, her face breaking into a smile that deepened her wrinkles. "Good child. I believe you."
Nearby, Li Yue rocked the baby gently, her lips curved in a faint smile.
The little one gazed up with wide, bright eyes, babbling softly as though trying to join the conversation.
"Director," Li Yue said suddenly, her tone light. "Don't you think this baby is just the cutest?"
The director's gaze softened immediately, falling on the child.
She reached out with a wrinkled hand, gently stroking the baby's cheek, her touch brimming with tenderness.
"What a beautiful little one," she murmured. "Exactly like Chen when he was small. Look at that nose, those eyes—like he was carved from the same mold."
As though responding to her words, the baby giggled, tiny gums showing as she smiled.
The director's laughter followed, full of joy. "Truly, a little angel."
Watching the scene, Zhang Yichen felt warmth rise in his chest.
He knew, for all her strictness, the director had always treated him as her own child.
And now, seeing her dote on his daughter filled him with gratitude and relief.
"Mom, actually… there's another reason we came today."
The director glanced at him, raising her brows. "What is it? Speak."
Yichen took a deep breath. "The baby doesn't have a household registration yet. We were hoping you could help us get it done."
She paused briefly, then nodded. "No birth certificate, right?"
"…Mm." Yichen nodded. "At the time, Xiaoxi didn't dare to apply for one."
"Alright. I'll call the community officer and report it. Leave it to me."
Her answer came without hesitation.
At this orphanage, registering a child's household was simple.
After reporting, if the parents weren't found within a week, the child would automatically be placed under the orphanage's guardianship.
Their household record would then be entered under the orphanage.
If, after a month, the parents still hadn't appeared, the child would be eligible for adoption.
At that point, their household record would follow their adoptive parents.
It was a humane system.
"Thank you, Mom!" Zhang Yichen bowed gratefully.
"Thank you, Director!" Chen Xiaoxi echoed sincerely.
"No need for thanks." She waved her hand, though her expression dimmed with a trace of loneliness. "Just live your lives well. And if you have the time… come visit this old woman."
"Of course! Don't worry, we're staying in Sichuan. We'll definitely visit often."
Xiaoxi nodded earnestly, then bowed deeply.
Her voice was soft but firm. "Director, you have our word."